


Priorities

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Study, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, M/M, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 10:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13950000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: Percy Weasley has spent his life being sure of everything, until one day he isn’t.





	Priorities

**Author's Note:**

  * For [untilourapathy (gwendolen_lotte)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwendolen_lotte/gifts).



> Thank you so much for the beta carpemermaidtales. And untilourpathy I hope you like this!!! <3

**1 September 1987 -**

Percy Weasley was not, despite his siblings constant barrage of teasing, an idiot. Far from it. In fact, Percy was incredibly smart. The problem was being smart didn’t seem to count for a whole lot in a family where your older brothers were smarter, and when your younger siblings were funnier and cuter. Percy wasn’t technically the middle child, but sometimes he felt like it. Desite how much Ronald usually annoyed him, he did sometimes feel sorry for him. It was easy to be overlooked when there was always someone better at what you could do, or who had done it first. Which was exactly why Percy had learned at a very young age that the only way to stand out was to make sure you never did anything wrong.

Percy had a natural distaste for getting into trouble regardless, but it didn't take long for him to see how much his mother appreciated him eating his lunch neater than his siblings or cleaning up after himself or even leaning his practice spells without needing help. Being self-sufficient in a big family was something to be praised for. He liked to make his mum happy, make her proud. And his dad was happy when his mum was happy.

But the second Percy had been sorted, had sat at the Gryffindor table, he knew Hogwarts was not going to be like he’d hoped, but exactly like he’d expected. Bill and Charlie had insisted Gryffindor was by far the best house, but as far as Percy could tell the only thing it definitely was going to be was the _loudest_ house. It reminded him of being at Burrow which was somehow comforting and disappointing all at once. He knew immediately that his desire for order was not going to be an asset to him here.

The first person to introduce themselves was a stocky boy with dark brown hair and a heavy Scottish accent who ploppped down next to Percy with an easy grin. He talked too much and bumped Percy’s elbow six times reaching for food. No one else seemed bothered by him though, rather everyone seemed charmed by his lack of nerves and the easy way in which he inserted himself into the older students comments on who will make the House team this year. Percy stoppped listening immediately. He hated Quidditch.

By the time they get to their dormitory, Percy was horrified to realise that all of his roommates were complete dunderheads. He couldn’t even remember the name of the two throwing pillows at each other, and the other one who was already asleep in his bed that was so shy he didn't even say his name. And then there’s Oliver, who didn't even seem to mind that Percy wasn’t listening. He was still talking about trying to make the house team even though first years never made the house team.

“Don’t you ever just want to do something just because people tell you that you can’t?” Oliver had yelled, dropping onto the end of his bed and shooting Percy a surly look.

Percy had taken in a deep breath, reminding himself that yelling at his roommates would not make him friends. “ _No_.”

 

 **1 October 1989** -

Percy loved his family, but they were boisterous and messy and disorganized. They were not efficient in the least and sometimes they weren’t very practical either. He had hoped that when he came to Hogwarts his appreciation for rules and structure would be appreciated, and it was - _sort of_. The professors had liked him immediately. There wasn’t a single one of them who didn’t praise his attention to detail or his neat handwriting or his impeccable school marks. Unfortunately for Percy, the other students didn’t seem to agree.

If he’d thought for a moment that Bill or Charlie might help with the bullying, he was wrong. They were nice enough he supposed, but they were both preoccupied with lessons and Quidditch and spent more time telling Percy to try and be like everyone else and to stop making a nuisance of himself rather than telling everyone else it was okay for him to be who he was. Percy liked who he was. Sometimes he just wished other people did too. So Percy pretended it didn’t hurt, because there was nothing else to do and Percy was nothing if not pragmatic.

The only person who had never mentioned him needing to be different was Oliver. Of course, Oliver never talked about _anything_ besides Quidditch, so Percy really wasn’t sure that was saying much. If he hadn’t accidentally gotten a glance at Oliver’s Transfiguration exam results the previous week when they’d been partnered, he would’ve probably continued on with his assertion that Oliver was a mindless twat who’d had everything shaken from his brain by rogue Bludgers as a child.

Percy tried to push the knowledge away, because he and Oliver weren’t really friends and it didn’t matter. Except, as the weeks went on he found himself wondering why the only thing anyone knew about Oliver was that he liked Quidditch, if there was obviously so much more to him. Now that he knew Oliver was quite bright, he couldn’t stop wondering why he didn’t use that knowledge to his advantedge. Why didn’t Oliver tell people when they were wrong? Why didn’t he answer questions in lessons? Why didn’t he make sure everyone knew how smart he was? Instead, Oliver spent his every breath taking about Bludgers and Quaffles and Snitches - things that meant nothing.

These things kept Percy up at night as he watched Oliver sleep. He didn’t understand Oliver Wood _at all_.

 

 **13 November 1993** -

Percy had dealt with a lot of ridiculous things in his lifetime. Charlie had gone off to train at a Dragon Reserve, which was quite honestly the stupidest profession alive since he was likely to die at the hands of a mindless magical creature. Bill had decided to become a Curse Breaker, which seemed just as unnecessarily reckless. Then there were Fred and George, who reminded Percy on a daily basis that nothing in life could be trusted. Or Ron, who just last year had managed not only to smash their father’s enchanted car into the Whomping Willow but had gone into the Chamber of Secrets. So yeah, Percy knew without a shred of doubt that it was possible for people to be illogical and rash.

But nothing could prepare him for finding Oliver trying to drown himself in the boy’s shower after Gryffindor had lost to Hufflepuff. Not that Percy had attended the game, he had far more important Prefect duties to attend to, but it was impossible not to know what had happened with his entire house acting like someone had died. And really it was like Harry had died, he was only the hospital wing and so far as Percy could tell he would be fine. It was just that they had apparently lost. And really Percy didn’t care whether Gryffindor won or lost, well aside from the house points which were always nice. But really, it was a silly sport that would get you nowhere in life so Percy did not care.

He’d walked in on Oliver accidently, had only wondered if perhaps someone had taken his favorite comb and left it there. That was the only reason he even went into the boy’s dormitory bathroom which he never used anymore now that he had access to the Prefect one. It wasn’t unusual for his things to go missing, though usually that was Fred or George. But still, it was Percy’s favorite comb so he thought a poke around couldn’t hurt.

He hadn’t meant to stand there and watch Oliver cry in the showers. Hadn’t meant to let his eyes linger on Oliver’s broad shoulders, or the way the muscles in his back tensed when Oliver’s shoulders shook. He definitely was not perving on Oliver by noticing the water droplets running down his muscled thighs or watching the way his forearm muscles bulged as he braced himself against the wall and buried his head beneath the hot water, because Percy was _not_ gay. He was dating Penelope and even if their kisses were lackluster and made him feel like he was practicing for an exam rather than leaving him breathless it didn't matter because Penelope was exactly the type of girl that Percy wanted to end up with. She was smart and practical and followed the rules and definitely didn’t act like the world was ending over Quidditch.

That night, however, sleep would not come when Percy laid in bed. And as he closed his eyes and wrapped his fingers around himself, it was images of sun-bronzed skin and blunt, calloused fingers he imagined, and not his girlfriend. He hadn’t found his comb but he found something else, something he wished desperately he could give back - _self awareness_.

 

 **11 July 1994** -

Percy’s last year at Hogwarts had been fraught with tension. Penelope had broken up with him, insisting his need to have everything perfect was stifling, his own siblings had such an utter disregard for the rules that he spent half his time as Head Boy taking points from them, and his housemates were as obsessed with Quidditch as ever. Then there was that pesky business with Sirius Black who seemed to want to break into Hogwarts to get at Ron’s little friend. So far as Percy was concerned there were only two positives, one that his skill as Head Boy was fully respected that year and that being Head Boy came with his own room so at least he didn't have to listen to Oliver prattle on day and night about the Gryffindor team or what training regiment he was going to implement despite the fact that Percy had told him on more than one occasion he didn't care. It also meant he didn't have to be distracted by the other boy changing next to him or the way he looked when he chewed on his Quill, or the funny noises he made when he pulled at his hair and poured over his Quidditch magazines instead of his textbooks.

On the rare chance he and Oliver were alone together, which was admittedly far and few between given their lack of shared interests, Oliver usually started talking about Quidditch or Percy’s brothers. He didn’t know which he wanted to talk about less. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if Oliver wanted to talk to him or just talked to anyone who would listen. From the way Fred and George went on all summer about Oliver’s impassioned speeches that made everyone fall asleep he leaned towards the latter.

At seventeen Oliver was somehow exactly like Percy remembered him from the first time they’d sat together after their sorting. He was taller and broader, his voice deeper, but there was still something in his eyes that made him look at if he thought he might get everything he wanted if he tried hard enough. Percy couldn’t explain why he hoped he did. It didn't affect him at all, and yet as they’d awkwardly waved to each other from the platform that last time all Percy could think was that he hoped no one ever broke Oliver’s spirit.

 

 **3 August 1995** -

Becoming an adult wasn’t as easy as Percy had always believed it might be be. He’d judged his parents harshly for the decisions they made, resented their inability to provide him with more than he had and for their lack of thought towards their families reputation. He’d thought them sentimental fools. He’d dreamed of the day he could make his own way in life, to assert his name as something important and prove to people he was more than they thought he could be.

And the more ensconced into the Ministry he became, the more he was sure this was the case. His family was not respected, not by the people who mattered. And his family’s desire to see his placement as Mr. Crouch’s personal secretary as anything except wonderful proved that they did not respect _him_.

It became easy to believe the people he was around. To believe that Harry Potter was a liar, that his parents had been brainwashed by Dumbledore. To believe that he needed to assert his loyalty and pick a side, which he did not hesitate to do. He knew what he wanted in life - respect and power and stability - things his family could never provide him with.

And yet, he could not help but wonder why, as the pieces around him began to crumble, as the world shifted and alliances changed, why he did not feel powerful _or_ safe.

  


**17 June 1997** -

Percy had everything he’d claimed to have ever wanted. Respect in the Ministry, a position of power, and influence with people who impacted the most important decisions being made. All it had cost him was everything he’d ever known and loved, everything he’d thought meant nothing.

And worst of all was that every single thing about it felt false. He had no joy. No hope. No sense of pride.

At night when he closed his eyes, he did not dream of money or wealth. He dreamt of home cooked meals and his siblings laughter, he dreamt of springtime at Hogwarts and Oliver’s smile after Gryffindor had finally won the house cup. He dreamt of everything that had ever been within his reach, and which he had trampled upon.

For the first time in his life Percy thought perhaps he was not smart. Perhaps he was not brave. Perhaps, when it came down to it Percy was not anything except the exact thing he had accused him family of being - blinded by misplaced priorities and loyalty.

His shame burned bright, and yet he could not bring himself to admit his wrong doing.

 

**2 May 1998 -**

The moment Percy had heard the Battle had begun he did not hesitate, apparating directly to the Hog’s Head, baring his family’s anger with a type of resigned calmness he didn’t know he possessed. For the first time in a long time the love of his family mattered more than anything else.

They won that day. He knew the right side won. And yet he could not help feel like they also lost. He didn’t think a day would go by when he wouldn’t close his eyes and not see the life leaving Fred’s.

Percy didn’t know if a day would go by when his regret and shame wouldn’t threaten to overpower his desire to live. The grief felt greater than the victory. He knew he made the right choice, in the end - but it did not feel like enough. It felt like a reaffirmation that Percy was never going to be enough.

And yet, as he helped the other able bodied Witches and Wizards clear the Battlefield that next day, his eyes caught sight of broad shoulders and brown hair, of a face so familiar and yet so unknown it took his breath away. And when Oliver met his eyes across the courtyard, offered him all he had - a smile - Percy thought maybe here, now, he could help rebuild more than just the castle.

 

 **5 June 1999** -

When Percy wakes in the morning, it is to a warm body curled against his own, to heavy breathing and a chill in the morning air seeping in through the cracked window that Olliver won't ever let him close.

When he eats breakfast it is not alone. It is side by side with Oliver, who still reads out the Quidditch scores every Saturday morning as if Percy might want to hear them. Except this time he _does_ , this time he is not listening to appease but listening to learn - taking in Oliver’s passion and recognising it as one of the ways he knows how to give, as the other man’s way of sharing a bit of himself.

Neither of them are great talking about things, about how they feel. But they find ways. They always find ways.

It’s been one year, one month and four days since Oliver smiled at Percy, since Percy thought that perhaps he didn’t need to bare his shame in silence.

It’s been nine months and three days since Percy knew that he loved Oliver, and eight months and six days since he knew Oliver loved _him_.

They’ve never said the words. But Percy knows. He always knows.

It was there, unspoken, in the way Oliver had stood beside Percy at Fred’s funeral. It was there in the way they stood side by side to help rebuild Hogwarts. It was there in their friendship long before it was something _more_. It’s there in the way Oliver folds the towels just so because he knows it makes Percy twitch when they’re messy, or the way Oliver had skipped Quidditch practice to make the first family dinner Percy ever invited him to.

It’s there in the ways they’re different and in the ways they are the same.

Percy had spent a lifetime thinking things had to be rigid, had to be defined; that only things acknowledged by others mattered. And yet here in their home, in the quiet life they have cultivated, Percy knows the most real thing he’s ever known is the one that belongs only in their hearts.

Percy had spent his life rebelling against the love of his family, insistent on finding something better, something more important. Something more worthy of devoting his life too. Except it wasn’t until he had none that Percy understood the truth - life without love was meaningless.

Because love, he thinks - no _, knows_ \- is the only thing in life that matters.

  



End file.
